


Any Which Way

by Twelvefootmountaintroll



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twelvefootmountaintroll/pseuds/Twelvefootmountaintroll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bolin and Iroh celebrate their anniversary—or rather, the anniversary of the day they were tied up by the Equalists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Which Way

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fit my [Seven Stones](http://archiveofourown.org/series/23384) series.

Bolin finishes tying the ribbon with a tug. Iroh’s back is warm and soft against his palms and he relishes in the whisper of skin on skin as he trails them up to rest them on the other man’s shoulders. He leans in, putting his mouth tantalizingly close to Iroh’s ear. There is a pause and their breathing seems the only sound in the world.

“Happy anniversary,” Bolin murmurs. He hands another strand of ribbon to Iroh. “Your turn.”

“Are you sure about this?” Iroh asks. His voice is inscrutable and his expression, facing away from Bolin, unreadable.

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not entirely convinced, no.”

Bolin wraps Iroh in a hug, arms folding across his chest and face pressed into the nape of his neck.

“Come on, it’ll be a throwback,” he says. “Nostalgia for the time when you were but a pervy naval officer feeling an inexplicable attraction to the kid you were tied up to.”

Bolin can hear the smile in Iroh’s voice. “Yeah, all right. I’ll admit there’s something appealing about the thought. I’m just not sure what we’re going to do if both our hands are tied.”

“We’ll have to be creative.” Bolin turns and places his hands in Iroh’s. “Besides, you’re good with knots if we get in trouble.”

“Mm.” Iroh wraps the ribbon around Bolin’s wrists. “I’m not used to tying them behind my back, though. What knot did you use?”

“Oh, um. I always forget the names. It’s the one with the loop, and then another loop around that loop, and then an elbow—”

Iroh laughs. “Never mind. I think... there, that should do it.”

Bolin tests the knot. It’s just snug enough to keep his wrists together without cutting off the circulation. He squeezes one of Iroh’s fingers.

“Perfect.”

“Turn around and let me have a look at you,” Iroh says. Bolin obliges.

“God damn,” he breathes. It’s one of the few times Bolin has heard him swear.

Bolin’s bare torso is granted some vulnerability by his hands being secured behind his back, yet his well-muscled and clearly powerful chest and stomach contradict that. His strong shoulders hint that he could tear through the ribbon in a second; the thought that he has trusted himself to such a flimsy restraint is undeniably arousing. The patch of hair leading down from his bellybutton into his waistband is a teasing reminder of what lies below. But it’s the look on his face that completes the image: a sort of mischievous deviance glinting in his eyes coupled with a familiar smile and just a hint of tongue behind the lips.

Iroh steps closer and plants a kiss on the corner of Bolin’s mouth.

“Ugh. Why didn’t we take off our pants first?” he asks.

“So we could do this,” Bolin says, and drops to his knees.

“Oh.”

Bolin takes the clasp between his teeth and pulls until it comes undone. He drags it down, pulling the pants off Iroh’s waist so that they fall to the floor. Iroh, it seems, had neglected to don underwear in the morning.

“Is this official naval dress code?” Bolin asks teasingly.

“Very funny,” Iroh says, stepping out of his pants and flicking them aside with one foot. “Stand up and I’ll do yours.”

“I think I’m okay right here.”

Bolin straightens up. Iroh’s already stiffening cock presses into his chest as he plants a row of kisses down his hip. As in everything he does, Bolin is earnest, like each time he presses his lips to Iroh’s skin he’s taking a gulp of clean air in a room filled with smoke. 

Iroh’s fists clench, useless behind his back. He says, “I wish I could touch you.”

Bolin responds by dropping down—trailing his lips along the way—and moving his kisses to his inner thighs. Then, nudging Iroh’s cock out of the way with his nose, he shifts his attention to his sack. The skin carries the faintest hint of salt in Bolin’s mouth.

“Bo-lin,” Iroh nearly whines as he runs his tongue along the underside of Iroh’s prick. “I said I want to touch you.”

“Yes, sir, Mr General,” Bolin says in a mock-serious tone. He walks over to the bed and flops down on his back, feet flat on the sheets so that he’s looking between his legs at Iroh. “Come touch me, then.”

Iroh wastes no time in unclasping Bolin’s pants and freeing his erection from the confining cloth.

“Lift up your ass, Mr Naval Dress Code,” he commands. Bolin obeys—not without a sly smirk—allowing him to pull the pants down to Bolin’s ankles.

“This would have been a lot less tedious if I could have used my hands,” Iroh says.

“But not nearly as entertaining!”

Iroh crawls up and kisses Bolin on the mouth—or tries to.

“Oof! You’re heavy,” Bolin says. Without his arms to support him, Iroh’s weight rests almost entirely on Bolin’s chest and stomach.

“Sorry.” Iroh struggles to kneel. “Let’s try something else. Flip over for me.”

He flips over.

“Now lift your ass up again.”

Where Bolin had always been shameless, even in the beginning of their relationship, about the things he wanted to do to Iroh’s body, Iroh had been a little more reserved. For example, he never would have dreamed doing what he is about to do: he drinks in the sight of Bolin offering himself up before leading with his tongue and pressing his mouth against Bolin’s most intimate place.

The feeling of Bolin’s muscles reacting to his tongue is divine, but so, too, is his nose pressed into Bolin’s tailbone picking up traces of his personal scent. Best of all is the uncontrolled groaning the prone man lets into the sheets.

Iroh buries his face closer, feeling Bolin loosening under his touch. His own cock throbs and aches for attention. He dips lower with his mouth, feeling the line of raised flesh with his tongue; Bolin presses back into him.

Finally, Iroh is overwhelmed by his physical desire. He lightly nips Bolin’s cheek before straightening up on his knees. His cock gleams reddish purple, twitching in time with his pulse. Both men let out a groan when he presses it along Bolin’s still-raised ass and starts grinding back and forth. Bolin joins the motion, rolling his hips contrary to Iroh’s so that his back is arched into every thrust.

Bolin, face flushed from heat and passion, catches Iroh’s gaze out of the corner of his eye and grins around his open-mouthed groaning.

“Ngh—are you convinced yet?” he asks.

“Not quite,” Iroh pants, grinning back.

“I want you—” Bolin’s voice always slows to a sultry drawl in the heat of the moment “—to fuck me.”

“I am,” Iroh says, emphasizing with a drawn-out thrust.

Bolin wiggles his hips. “You know what I mean.”

Indeed he does—he’d be hard pressed to forget his lover’s favorite position. Although...

“Usually we do this standing up,” Iroh points out. “Or at least face-to-face.”

“You can make it work,” Bolin says. “I trust you.”

But working hands-free with an achingly stiff hard-on is easier said than done. It takes Iroh some dicey maneuvering to slip his cock between Bolin’s legs. When he pushes forward, feeling the gentle squeeze of the other man’s thighs, Bolin groans.

“How’s that?”

“Yeah. Mm, good.” Bolin buries his face in the sheets, letting out a muffled, “Keep going.”

“Don’t know how long—I’ll last.” It’s hard for Iroh to concentrate on what he’s saying. Even without the leverage his hands usually lend him, sensations are near-overwhelming. He guesses it’s the same for Bolin, with the indirect stimulation of Iroh’s cock pressing along the root of his own.

Iroh tries to focus on anything else but the sweat glistening on Bolin’s back, or the way he’s biting the sheets, or the heat of Bolin’s body radiating into him. He closes his eyes as he grinds back and forth, pretends that he can’t hear the panting and that he can’t feel Bolin’s hips rocking against him. He resolutely ignores the salt-taste lingering in his mouth.

It’s no good.

“Wait!” Bolin says suddenly. “I want to see your face when you come off.”

“How—?”

“Your breathing always changes. Now roll over.” Bolin pushes Iroh backward until the latter relents and turns to his back.

Bolin rises up straight and straddles Iroh’s thighs. He avoids Iroh’s earlier mistake of trying to lean forward without support, instead tilting his hips forward so their cocks press together. He wears a strange smile as he looks down at Iroh, one caught between satisfaction and demand. His eyes flutter closed as their hips rock in tandem and pick up speed.

“So close...” Bolin whispers. “Damn. It’s hard work without hands!”

Iroh can only nod with a growing sense of frustration that fulfillment is just out of reach. Just a little more pressure, a little more friction—

With a flash of clarity, gazing at the prostrate body beneath him, Bolin realizes why, back on the streets, the V-shaped lines of muscle on the abdomen were called “cum gutters.” A sharp intake of breath sets him over the edge. His thrusts jerk out of his control, but he keeps his eyes firmly locked on Iroh’s face—damned if he’s going to let this keep him from seeing Iroh’s moment of truth.

Bolin’s steady gaze is the push that Iroh needed and, feeling the other man’s cum spurting onto his stomach, he joins in. His back arches, driving his hips up against Bolin’s weight. The last image before he closes his eyes with bliss is of Bolin’s grin finally resolving into pure satisfaction.

For a minute afterward, they simply stay as they are: sticky, cooling, and relaxing. Bolin leans carefully forward, Iroh lifts up to meet him, and they share a tender kiss.

Finally, Iroh wrinkles his nose and says, “Ugh, gross. I’m going to be all crusty if we don’t clean up soon.”

“I like you any which way,” Bolin says, and kisses him again.


End file.
